


come stand a little bit closer

by kusemono (Glitchgoat)



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Discussion of Piercings, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 09:17:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16281866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitchgoat/pseuds/kusemono
Summary: Yamato rolls his eyes and half-heartedly attempts to shove Gaku away, to no avail.  “Yeah, I’ll get something pierced the day you get full sleeve tattoos,” he says.“That’s hardly fair,” Gaku says.“Sucks.” Beat. “Also: yes, I do have to be a dick. It’s intrinsic to my entire personality.”





	come stand a little bit closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nhiwi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhiwi/gifts).



> breathe in, and get a bit higher

“Your ears aren’t actually pierced.”

Yamato blinks a couple times. Okay, so it’s not… the _weirdest_ thing anyone’s ever said to him in the middle of making out, but it’s up there, and it’s weirder coming from Gaku Yaotome.

Gaku Yaotome who is straddling him. On Gaku Yaotome’s couch.

…

_Gaku Yatome, ladies and gentlemen._

This bizarre – however true it may be – observation came right the fuck out of left field, and Yamato is kind of left reeling. He pulls back, brow furrowed.

“… congratulations on figuring that out?” Yamato says slowly. “Is your brain finally rotting, Yaotome? Do we need to call this off?” He’s picking up speed. “Should I slink away and go jack off while I lament your early-onset dementia, though hopefully not so lament-y that I can’t get off?”

Gaku scowls at him.

Yamato grins lazily. “What brings this stunning revelation up?”

“Those promos you just did.”

Yamato has to think for a minute, because – he’s going to be real, most of the crap he has to wear for promotional material, he throws directly into the memory-garbage. He’d sleep through makeup if they’d let him. (They will not. He _has_ tried.)

“Oh, right,” Yamato says after a moment of thought. “ _Right._ ”  
Fake piercings were hardly outside of the norm, though. He’d bet money that there were just as many (if not manifold more) promotions and shoots and single covers where Gaku’d been decked out in bullshit earrings, so Yamato figures he can be excused for not following where Gaku’s—surprise? Disappointment? – is coming from.

“They looked good,” Gaku says, achingly blunt.

Two voices in Yamato’s head say _who gives a fuck what Yaotome thinks looks good?_ and _me, I am the one who give a fuck._ He ignores both, which is good, because Gaku isn’t done speaking.

“You ever thought about actually getting them pierced?”

Yamato blinks a couple times, raising one eyebrow while the other drops skeptically. “Alright, cool, you _are_ losing it,” he says slowly, practically drawls.

Gaku doesn’t let Yamato’s refusal to take him seriously faze him. “I’m just saying that you should consider it. You don’t have to be a dick.”

Yamato rolls his eyes and half-heartedly attempts to shove Gaku away, to no avail.  “Yeah, I’ll get something pierced the day you get full sleeve tattoos,” he says.

“That’s hardly fair,” Gaku says.

“Sucks.” Beat. “Also: yes, I do have to be a dick. It’s intrinsic to my entire personality.”

Gaku doesn’t respond to that, and Yamato is naïve enough to think the subject has been dropped. This is not fated to last, but for the moment, he relaxes as Gaku resumes what he was doing before he got distracted by his revelation.

Which is to say:

Gaku drops his head down and licks a stripe up Yamato’s throat, tongue scorching-hot against his skin; he trails upwards, agonizingly slow until he reaches the back of Yamato’s jaw. It’s hard to tell if the faintest hint of the scrape of teeth is intentional or not, but it’s impossible to ignore either way.

Yamato hopes that the way his breath quickens _will_ go ignored, but that would be giving Gaku entirely too little credit. He can feel – to his horror (?) – Gaku smirk against the point where his jaw meets his ear. Yamato opens his mouth, preparing to tell Gaku not to let it go to his head.

He would be entirely too late with that instruction, and anyway, he doesn’t get the chance to say it, because Gaku catches Yamato’s ear in his teeth. He doesn’t make any kind of _truly_ embarrassing noise, thank god, but his breath catches in his throat.

“Are you trying to pierce my ears _yourself?_ ” he blurts, and Gaku hums. Yamato snorts and rolls his eyes, shifts to ineffectually try to hide the way his dick is definitely paying attention.

Stupid traitorous sensitive ears. Mercifully, Gaku pulls away, and Yamato is even able to put a neutral expression on when he does.

Gaku isn’t looking at his face, though.

It seems like he’s looking at Yamato’s chest (his shirt having been long ago abandoned), or—okay, a little higher. He drags his fingers along Yamato’s collarbone. “You know, people get piercings here, too,” Gaku remarks idly. It sounds like a suggestion.

“That’s a hard no,” Yamato says flatly.

Gaku regards him for a moment, then ducks his head down into the crook of Yamato’s neck and places a too-soft kiss at the hollow where his neck meets his collarbone. He hums against the skin and begins to trail outward. He trails slightly outward, dragging a line along Yamato’s clavicle with his tongue.

It takes a moment for Yamato’s brain to actually catch up to Gaku’s intentions, but if he was still slow, then Gaku makes it abundantly clear by biting the thin skin there, sharp and quick, and sucking at the point he bit.

Yamato yelps. “Hey! No marks, dickhead!” He attempts to pull away, but only really succeeds in craning his neck further back, which just makes Gaku’s self-appointed job easier.

Gaku glances up at Yamato’s face. “Just don’t wear any open shirts for a few days,” he says, blunt as ever.  
Yamato scans Gaku’s expression for any sense of irony, detachment, joking—and finds none. _Usually_ , Gaku doesn’t push it, and _usually,_ Yamato admires his self-restraint, but he’s got the idea in his head now and he doesn’t seem willing to let it go. Worse, the mark is already starting to fade in, only to get darker with time.

Yamato huffs a dry and humourless laugh, dragging a hand backwards through his own hair. “Great. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Gaku says, and nips at Yamato’s collarbone again – maybe a little harder than he otherwise might have – before Yamato has the chance to complain.

He finds himself, for a brief, fanciful, and very stupid moment, _really_ wishing that Gaku would move up his neck rather than down, before the catastrophic badness of that idea hits him. (Marks under shirts are annoying at worst, but the _best_ -case scenario with anything visible is having to explain himself – to Tsumugi if absolutely nobody else, and frankly, _Yamato would rather die_.)

(Something unpleasantly warm in the back of his head tells him that he _could_ just say fuck it and wear it with pride and he immediately kicks that thought in the teeth. He can already hear Mitsuki and Iori telling him off in his head.)

(He can also already hear the imaginary voice of Gaku remarking that the marks look good and _boy oh boy he’s not dealing with that.)_

Gaku starts sliding down, and in a liquid motion he slips off of the couch and towards the floor. He doesn’t sink down all at once, placing too-gentle kisses on his way down. He has a mission, it seems, and while he takes his damn sweet time mouthing at Yamato’s chest (and abs, and stomach), he doesn’t truly _linger_ anywhere until he reaches the space just above the band of Yamato’s pants.

He presses his mouth just above where Yamato’s hipbones dip out of sight. With a sharpness that contrasts pointedly with the almost disconcerting gentleness with which he trailed down here, he catches the skin in his teeth, leaves more little bite-marks. (Yamato immediately, if distantly, remembers that, oh yeah, don’t people get surface piercings on their hips, too? The idea suddenly, if perhaps ephemerally, feels a lot less stu—nope nope nope nope).

It’s not as if this reduces Yamato to some kind of swooning mess, by any means. It’s just that—

Look, Gaku just _does this shit_ sometimes. He gets some lark of an idea in his head, and… well, say what you will about him, but the man follows through. He commits. The worst part, the absolute killer, is that the bastard always seems to pull it off without a hint of irony, and it makes Yamato want to set himself on fire.

Self-immolation can wait at least a little while longer, however. Gaku – without lifting his head – raises a hand and palms at Yamato through his pants. His fingers entirely too delicately tracing the growing-more-defined outline of Yamato’s cock, barely a whisper of a touch, but it’s just enough that Yamato can’t shrug it off.

He can feel Gaku smirk against his skin again, or maybe he’s just imagining that.

“Lift your hips for a second,” Gaku says, slipping his fingers under the waist of Yamato’s pants and ineffectually tugging, looking up pointedly.

“You are in the exact wrong position to be making demands,” Yamato quips right back, because, really, Gaku is quite literally on his knees in front of him. It’d be easy to flip this situation around. Gaku would probably roll with it if he _did_.

And yet he doesn’t; in that blank space, Gaku watches him expectantly. Yamato rolls his eyes, but he undoes the fly of his pants and lifts his hips as requested. Gaku tugs his pants down, merciful enough to drag his underwear down with it; maybe he just doesn’t want to deal with asking Yamato to move again, or maybe he has motives of his own.

(Yamato kind of hopes it’s the latter, because of course he does.)

Gaku doesn’t bother pulling Yamato’s pants any further down than he has to. Almost as soon as Yamato settles back down, Gaku runs his fingers up the underside of his dick. It sends a shiver through Yamato and that shiver runs all the way up his spine, but then a realization hits him.

“If you say a single word about dick piercings, I am going to knee you in the face,” he warns. (He totally doesn’t have even a little bit of that sick-warm feeling sinking into his stomach as he says it, either. Nope.)

Gaku looks like he’s debating whether or not saying what’s on his mind is worth it. Luckily for the both of them, he seems to decide it isn’t, even though a smile plays on his lips. Instead, he wraps his hand around Yamato, but only barely. It’s almost nothing, loose and light, the couple of strokes barely a hint of contact, and Yamato tries to rock into the touch— to no avail, since Gaku pushes him back down with his other hand.

“Be patient,” Gaku says, _teases,_ and if the tone in his voice didn’t make Yamato’s dick throb, his expression – a smirk paired with hungry, half-hooded eyes – would do the trick. To his credit, at least, Gaku actually does tighten his hand, provides a few precious seconds of friction.

And then, throwing all that credit to the window, Gaku relaxes his grip again once Yamato is more or less as hard as he’s going to get. (This doesn’t take long.)

“Asshole,” Yamato mutters.

“I didn’t say anything this time,” Gaku says, which is true but unhelpful as he drags his fingers along the underside of Yamato’s cock again.

“Are you going to suck my dick or are you just going to _be_ a dick?”

Gaku gives no verbal answer; he smiles, self-satisfied, as Yamato lolls his head back and groans in frustration. While Yamato’s attention is off of him, he takes a hold of his dick and gently maneuvers it to one side so that he can mouth at the other side of it.

He chided Yamato moments ago for impatience, but really, his own seems to be in short supply after a few seconds of this. Yamato would call him out if he weren’t hit hard by Gaku, in one motion, taking him into his mouth. Yamato tries to lift his head back up, but he gives up halfway, and instead he lets head loll to one side, not wanting to miss the sight of the most desired man in the country sucking him off.

(It’s not even _that_ uncommon a sight, but—still. Some things, you appreciate even when they’re familiar.)

Familiar, too, is the way Gaku drops his head and hollows his cheeks with practiced ease, swipes his tongue easy and fluid around the head, presses the flat of that selfsame tongue against the underside and drags (and for a brief delirious moment, thanks to that stupid idea Gaku planted in his head, Yamato debates the concept of Gaku with a tongue piercing and)—

“Goddammit,” Yamato mumbles with a huff, his hand falling into Gaku’s hair once more. He doesn’t thread his fingers through, doesn’t want to— (to what? Seem like he’s trying to take the reins? Give Gaku the satisfaction?)

He tries to rock his hips forward, and just as he had done before, Gaku pushes him back down. Yamato hisses another profanity, but that doesn’t convince Gaku to set any less leisurely of a pace.

The ramp-up is maddening, even though it only lasts a few minutes in reality. At least it’s a steady build; never let it be said that Gaku doesn’t know what he’s doing, but, come on—that only make things worse, and before too long, he feels a tell-tale coil in his stomach start to build.

“Hey, hold on—” he begins, attempting to give a warning, but his attempt at words gets tangled in his throat as Gaku casts a glance up at him.

Gaku makes eye contact for only a fraction of a second before he drops his eyes again and takes a deep breath. Yamato only has a moment to register that something is about to happen, before Gaku—

_Goddammit –_

Gaku takes him in full into his mouth, sinks down almost flush with him, and swallows around him.

Yamato’s breath catches, and he doesn’t stand a goddamn chance. Whether he wants to or not, he clenches his hands into fists, not pulling but – well, he can hope Gaku wasn’t going to try to pull away. (He wasn’t.)

Yamato’s cock throbs as he crashes headlong into a climax, swear words hissed through pressed teeth as he comes down Gaku’s throat, coaxed along by the way Gaku’s _still swallowing around him_ through th aftershocks, and goddamn it, fucking hell, Gaku is a _bastard._

A bastard who, after he pulls away, does a good job of hiding a shallow cough behind wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Yamato averts his eyes, possibly because he just straight up does not want to _deal_ with the way Gaku looks so damn pleased with himself. (He’s earned the right to, sure, but that doesn’t mean Yamato has to like it.)

“Not a word.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Gaku says, and Yamato doesn’t believe him for a second. Before Yamato can say anything else, say that Gaku’s full of shit or even just offer to reciprocate, Gaku’s hand drifts back up, wrapping around Yamato’s quickly-softening cock.  
“… but you should totally get it pierced,” he says after a moment, and at that, Yamato snaps his head down and glares daggers.

“No. Absolutely _goddamn_ n- ah hold on dammit!”

Gaku retaliates to Yamato’s lack of enthusiasm by swiping his thumb across the still-slick head of Yamato’s dick; his thighs tremble just slightly with the effort of keeping still. He’s _sensitive,_ dammit, but he has nowhere to pull away to.

“You’re not kneeing me in the face,” Gaku points out, and Yamato groans, letting his head fall backwards again. It’s outstanding how Gaku can switch between such different kinds of bastard on such short notice. That’s supposed to be _his_ job.

“If you’re that disappointed, we can work something out,” Yamato manages, reaching down to push Gaku’s hand away, and instead gets his own hand batted away.

Gaku shrugs nonchalantly, unperturbed. He starts to shift, clearly planning to move, but as a parting shot he swipes his tongue across the head. A partly-strangled noise claws its way out of Yamato’s throat whether he wants it to or not, and Gaku actually doesn’t stop the instinctive buck of his hips this time, but he does match it with the removal of his hand. He removes himself entirely in fact, hoisting himself up onto the couch. While Yamato is catching his breath, Gaku insinuates himself right up along his right side.

Yamato registers distantly that Gaku’s on the opposite side of where he started. He gets the feeling he knows where this is going, but for whatever reason (… ahem), he doesn’t even try to pull away from it when Gaku leans in to nip at the ear he had neglected earlier.

Yamato huffs and feels a surge of heat warm his cheeks and his (stupid sensitive) ears as Gaku brushes his tongue along the shell of his ear—and then pulls away right as Yamato is starting to accept it.

“You keep shooting down my ideas,” Gaku says, sounding fake-hurt, and he brushes Yamato’s hair away from his ears for a moment, “but earrings did suit you. Whoever they’re putting in charge of your styling obviously thinks so.”

“No more than anyone else,” Yamato says, raising an eyebrow. “And besides that, by that logic, you and Tsunashi-san and Kujou should all be decked out in piercings and, like, Victorian shit all the time.”

“Would you complain?”

It’s Yamato’s turn not to answer. Gaku clearly takes that as just as good as a concession, judging by the way he smirks.

 “Doesn’t explain the sudden preoccupation with the weirder ones,” Yamato points out. “Unless I’ve _seriously_ forgotten some weird shit they shoved me into.” In fairness, he _has_ been shoved into some weird goddamn getups, but still.

Gaku hums and starts to revisit the points that he had nipped at earlier and the marks that he left. By this point, the little bite-marks have had the chance to bloom into darker hickeys. Gaku drags his fingers across the ones at Yamato’s hip.  
“They’d suit you too,” he says matter-of-factly, almost distantly, as he brushes his thumb across the small bruises he left on Yamato’s collarbone. “That’s all.”

Yamato can’t shake the feeling that there’s something Gaku’s not saying, but he doesn’t think he really wants to know what it is. (Or, more accurately, he doesn’t want to _hear_ it.)

“You want me to blow you or what?” Yamato says to change the subject, glancing at Gaku. He’s still got his pants on, but he’s pitching an impressive tent, and Yamato’s not a big enough jackass to leave him high and dry.

“I’d rather fuck you.” Beat. “If you’re alright with that.”

Well, points for directness. (Yamato’s dick tries its damndest to come back to life, but it’s still gonna take him a minute or two.)

… but come on, like he’s _ever_ actually going to turn down sex.

“Yeah. Sure. Why not,” he says, feigning casual; Gaku hides fairly well the fact that he’s pleased with that answer, but _hiding well_ is not _hiding completely._

“That’s fine,” Gaku says with a one-shouldered shrug.

"Not face to face, though," Yamato mutters, like he always mutters, as if he needs to remind Gaku. He can deal with a lot, but not that. (He already feels awkward enough about it with women, or when he’s topping; it’s _completely_ out of the question on the other side of the equation.)

“Right.” Gaku always sounds just-barely disappointed, because he can never fully hide what he feels, but he never argues the point. He sits back and takes the chance to get himself out of his pants while Yamato rearranges himself.

Yamato lays his head down on his arms, laying lengthwise on the couch on his belly, while Gaku settles in behind him. He doesn’t see from whence Gaku procures lube; if he had a small bottle of it in his pocket, if he stores it between the cushions of the couch, if he should be pursuing a night job as a parlor magician, whatever, and—

“Ah—dammit, hold on,” Yamato mutters, flinches away from inquisitive fingers, not just because Gaku didn’t wait long enough for it to come up closer to body temperature.

Right. He just got off. _He’s not as young as he used to be._ (He’s only twenty-goddamn-two, come on. Point stands.)

Gaku immediately pulls his hand away, and hums quietly. “Still sensitive, then?” he says, even though he knows the answer.

"Yeah, thanks for that by the way," Yamato drawls. "Since, you know, your fault."

“I think I can live with the guilt,” Gaku says, gesturing with one hand. He pauses. “Lift your hips,” he instructs for the second time, and Yamato furrows his brow.

“What are you—”

“Do you just want to sit here twiddling your thumbs?” Gaku cuts him off.

“I donno, could be fun.”

Gaku sighs and shakes his head. Yamato does – with his _needless obstruction_ quota fulfilled – oblige after a moment. His compliance is met with Gaku’s mouth on a wholly different part of his body this time.

His breath catches, and he’s torn between pulling away and _the exact opposite of that._

It’s really hard to miss the way Gaku chuckles at that, and Yamato is really glad that Gaku can’t see the fascinating way he’s certain his face has turned pink.

_Bastard._

After the initial surprise, though, it’s not that hard to relax into it, laser-focus on the searingly-hot sensation of Gaku’s inquisitive tongue. It’s certainly a key factor as much as simply riding out the time in the way the tension falls out of him.  
(And the blood starts returning to his dick. That is also an important effect.)

It’s obvious (or at least, Yamato reminds himself) that it’s a prelude, a time-waster as much as anything, but Yamato decidedly files this away as a thing to bring up later, because if Gaku’s going to bring it up unprompted, then he had better follow up.

Gaku pulls away before too long (Yamato tries not to be too disappointed), and he hums, self-satisfied.

“Try again?”

“Yeah, go for it.”

Gaku follows that instruction, leans back, and re-applies the lube.

Yamato doesn’t flinch away this time.

Yamato sighs, closing his eyes as Gaku presses lube-slicked fingers into him, starting with one and escalating to two maybe a bit faster than he should, but Yamato hardly minds. He knows well the almost-dazed look Gaku gets in his eye when Yamato relaxes into the preparation, hears Gaku’s breath do a half-skip when he himself breathes a little heavier (admittedly it’s partially for show, but not entirely).

Gaku plays his free hand along Yamato’s skin, feather-light and inquisitive up his spine, like he isn’t familiar enough with Yamato as it is. Yamato unconsciously arches into the touch, just the same as he had tried to rock into Gaku’s hand earlier.

Gaku chuckles.

Yamato grits his teeth. “Knock it off,” he mutters, turning his head so he can glare at Gaku, who quite pointedly doesn’t stop working the fingers on his other hand into him.

Gaku does not knock it off. Instead he dips his head in to huff hot breath in Yamato’s ear, clearly relishes in the way Yamato’s body betrays him with a shudder. “Nah,” he says, quiet enough that even if they weren’t alone, the words would be for Yamato’s audience only. “It’s cute.”

See, this. _This_ shit is why Yamato refuses to be face-to-face. He grits his teeth, feels himself blush, turns his head away.

“Shut up and fuck me, Yaotome.”

“Stop whining,” Gaku says. However, not only is the command toothless, but Gaku also ultimately seems to be in agreement (a bit of a running theme that Yamato is noticing but isn’t going to point out lest he tempt fate). He places one hand on Yamato’s hip, using the other hand to line himself up.

Yamato half-holds his breath, wills himself to relax again, and is rewarded a moment later by the blunt press of Gaku’s dick pressing into him. For all he’s certain Gaku would like to take his time, to exercise that patience he chided Yamato for lacking, he’s running short on it himself. The hand that he was using to line up, now done with its duty, falls to his other hip. He grips a bit harder than maybe he means to, his nails scratching shallow grooves sure to turn an angry, if short-lived, red.

It still feels like it takes forever for him to bottom out— or maybe that’s just Yamato’s own impatience talking. It doesn’t happen in a single smooth movement; he has to rock halfway backwards a couple times, and even the _threat_ of Gaku withdrawing almost aches in the hollow seconds before he begins to push back in.

Yamato drops his forehead to the couch and exhales a steady breath. Gaku lets go of his hip and bows forward as he settles in, his front almost flush with Yamato’s back. His hands find their ways to the backs of Yamato’s, which scrabble ineffectually for purchase on the smooth upholstery, and Gaku threads his fingers loosely into the spaces between Yamato’s while he settles.

It’s almost sweet, so of course, Yamato rolls his eyes. He almost wants to complain, to tell him to knock it off, but if he had anything to say, it gets lost in a heavy breath when Gaku rocks his hips, and it has no chance of being found when Gaku starts to set his rhythm.

This is something Yamato has no problem with. It’s sex. It’s a warm body laid over his, a dick pressing heavy inside him (however nice a dick it is, or how much of a weird sincere straightforward jackass it belongs to)— it’s not something life-changing or poetic.

And it absolutely _doesn’t_ send an electric shock down Yamato’s spine when Gaku’s heavy breath falls on the back of his neck, except for the part where it does all of that. It’s worse when he drops down entirely and presses his lips against Yamato’s nape. That would be bad enough, and Yamato can’t hide that shiver no matter how much he’d like to; Gaku certainly takes note of it, trails open-mouthed kisses along the ridge of his shoulder.

Then he bites.

“Shit!” Yamato blurts. With the shock of the pain, he seizes up.  Gaku stops moving, ever-so-conveniently fully seated as Yamato goes tight around him.

Yamato becomes very aware of how big Gaku is.

“ _Oh_ ,” Gaku purrs into his ear, and even though it’s much quieter than Yamato’s expletive it feels a hundred times louder. He returns to the spot he bit, and – like it wasn’t going to mark up well enough – sucks gently at the spot.

Yamato does _not_ care to examine how these little actions in tandem send a shock of warmth straight to his stomach, dick, and face all at the same time.

Gaku starts to move again the moment he can, bearing his weight down over top of Yamato as he draws out and pushes his dick back in, rhythmic and measured and –

(And not _nearly_ fast enough.)

“Hey, Yaotome, come on,” he says, huffs words out on a barking laugh that sounds a lot less controlled than he wishes it did, but it’s too late to back out now. As he speaks, he cranes his head just enough to glance over his shoulder. “You’ve already tried to take a chunk out of my shoulder, the hell’re you trying to act—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because the taunt works. One of Gaku’s hands leaves Yamato’s behind, and whether Gaku’s original intention is just to clap his hand over Yamato’s mouth or to catch his tongue between his fingers, it’s the latter that happens. At almost the same time, he all but slams forward, redoubling his pace and clearly intending to maintain it.

“Better?” Gaku says, once again right in Yamato’s ear. The smile is practically audible in his voice, and Yamato would complain but he can’t find it in him to do so-- or maybe that’s just because it’s suddenly a lot harder to put words into a coherent order, even inside his own head.

Gaku chuckles, drags his tongue along the shell of Yamato’s ear before catching the lobe in his teeth. Yamato is expecting him to bite again; what he gets is somehow worse. As a parting shot, Gaku plants a kiss to the point where the back of Yamato’s jaw joins his neck.

Gaku releases Yamato’s other hand from his own. He trails his fingers down Yamato’s chest, and (before Yamato can fully form the idea that if Gaku teases him again, he’s going to flip his shit) he wraps his hand around Yamato’s dick. He doesn’t even bother with pretense; his hand matches the quicker, inelegant pace with which he’s fucking.

Thank god.

Yamato isn’t sure if he’s bucking his hips into Gaku’s hand or back against him when he thrusts, but the end result is the same, and he’s approaching another orgasm with a rapidity he can’t bring himself to be ashamed by.

Gaku huffs something that sounds an awful lot like _pretty,_ but Yamato doesn’t completely catch it, because in the next moment Gaku drops his head and bites again, right alongside of the last mark he left, because he hasn’t left enough. It’s sharp and it’s white-hot, and paired with Gaku snapping his hips and his hand, Yamato—

Well.

Yamato makes some _really_ fascinating noises with his mouth forced open as he makes a mess of Gaku’s other hand.

Gaku doesn’t stop, or even slow, either his hips or his hand; if anything, he gets a little more frantic, and he _growls_ , and Yamato is stuck between laughing and distantly feeling like he might get off again on that alone.

It doesn’t last. Gaku’s dick throbs unmistakably and Gaku’s hand drops away from Yamato’s dick, scrabbles instead at his hip. Gaku haphazardly, unevenly drags Yamato against himself, as though he can pull him any more flush than he already is.

The bastard couldn’t even ask if he could come inside. (As if Yamato is going to complain.)

 (God, he’s going to look like he lost a fight by the time Gaku is done.  
… he minds this thought a lot less than he wishes he did. Certainly, he minds it less than he minded the idea at the start. Either Gaku’s a bad influence, or maybe Yamato’s just an idiot and a slave to the whims of his dick. Probably both.)

Gaku pulls his fingers out of Yamato’s mouth and Yamato immediately drops his head to the couch and closes his eyes. He has saliva trailing down his chin, sweat on his forehead, and his own cum smeared inelegantly along his thigh and hip thanks to Gaku; he doesn’t particularly care. He knows he’ll have to go get cleaned up in the near future, but right now, he doesn’t really want to think about it.

Gaku pulls out; it could be after five seconds or as many minutes for as much as Yamato is paying attention. It’s a mixture between relief and an aching emptiness, but Yamato doesn’t get to dwell on it. Just as soon as he’s out, Gaku bows back over Yamato’s back, tucks his arms around him midsection and—

“Heyheyheyheyhey wait Yaotome wait!”

Gaku _heaves,_ pulling Yamato upright and then backwards. Yamato flails inelegantly, a mass of surprised limbs. His glasses don’t stay for the whole trip; they get dislodged either when Gaku pulls him up or when Yamato hurls an arm out to ineffectually stop Gaku from pulling him up. Whatever the reason, he finds himself going from laying face-down on Gaku’s couch to sort of half-tangled up, half laying across Gaku’s front.

As soon as he sorts his legs out so they’re not half-tucked under himself, he turns his eyes up. He can tell that Gaku is grinning, even if he’s a little bit blurry.

“Asshole,” Yamato says.

Gaku doesn’t argue the point. He peers down at Yamato’s face, upside-down from his perspective, and Yamato feels something warm and pleasant settle in his chest.

“You ever considered contacts?”

That warm feeling immediately goes ice-cold. “No. No, fuck no. Fuck you. I’d sooner something pierced.”

Gaku laughs.

 _Bastard,_ Yamato thinks fondly.

**Author's Note:**

> the promo that gaku mentions at the start is very loosely referenciing the v!fl!!!!!! cover art, but i don't know where that would fit in the timeline, so i left it kinda ambiguous so as not to have to place it timelinewise
> 
> this was a commission for [@kiwimemer](https://twitter.com/kiwimemer) and boy oh boy do i hope it wasn't disappointing, because i don't want to disappoint an artist i like!
> 
> also follow me on twitter [@glitchgoats](https://twitter.com/glitchgoats), because I am fun and funky and i will write porn for you in exchange for US dollars!


End file.
